


Dumb Luck (or maybe something more)

by emsmittens



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Canon-Typical Violence, Feral Derek Hale, Getting Together, Good Peter Hale, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Sharing a Bed, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Werewolf Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27610690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emsmittens/pseuds/emsmittens
Summary: When Stiles was faced with a very feral, very naked Derek, he thought he would be lucky to leave the situation with his life and pride attached.He got more, so much more.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 479





	Dumb Luck (or maybe something more)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my WIP folder FOREVER.
> 
> Also, it has almost been one year since I've posted my first TW fanfic on here. Crazy how time flies when you're having fun!

This was it. This was the part where Stiles was going to lose his mind. It wasn’t his best friend turning into a werewolf that did it. It wasn’t his mauled prom date that did it. It wasn’t the thousand-year-old dark kitsune that did it. It was Derek freaking Hale. A very grumpy, very feral Derek Hale, that was watching his every move across the loft, glowing red eyes stark despite the bright full moon shining through the wall-to-ceiling windows behind him. If he was lucky, his mind would be all he lost. 

The rest of the pack was useless, even Peter and Cora, Derek’s own flesh and blood. For some reason, Stiles was the only one that could even enter the alpha’s abode without a terrifying growl of protest coming from the almost-Derek thing that was crouched in the corner. Peter’s running theory was that the feral ‘wolf didn’t see Stiles as a threat because he was the pack’s only human.

They still haven’t figured out why Derek was in this feral state. Isaac was the one that found him earlier this afternoon when he stopped by to spend the full moon with his alpha for control training, as they planned earlier in the week. 

Stiles moved forward, stepping over the various pieces of clothes and other items on the messy floor, his hands cautiously raised, trying to keep his breathing and heartbeat steady. He was only doing this because the rest of the pack was just behind the front door, ready to rescue him at a moment's notice. When the werewolf didn’t growl or even bare his teeth, he took another shaky step.

From this distance, he could see that he was a sight for sore eyes. It reminded Stiles of Peter’s petrifying alpha shift, back when he went feral. Derek’s form was shockingly more human though. He was smaller, closer in size to his beta shift, and his face was more human, more like Derek. Although he was covered from head to toe in grime and what looked like his own dried blood, he was still very much obviously naked. 

That was not what concerned Stiles. What concerned Stiles were the large, deep gashes on his chest, that formed symbols that he didn’t recognize. They must have been made with a knife coated in wolfsbane or some other anti-werewolf weapon.

Stiles stopped barely outside of grabbing distance. Not taking his eyes off of Derek, he fished his phone out of his back pocket of his worn-out jeans. He knew better than to take a picture. Who knows how a feral werewolf would react to the blinding light of a flash? Thanking his lucky stars that he has mastered texting without looking at his phone, mainly due to the prying eyes of Mr. Harris, he wrote out a message to Scott. First, he promised that he was safe. Then he gave details about carved symbols. Finished, he returned it to its place.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered, afraid loud sounds would spook the werewolf. “You okay over there?”

Derek let out a wet huff at his words, almost like a laugh.

“You know what I’m saying?” Puzzled, he pressed on. “Nod if you can understand me.”

Another wet huff in his direction.

He knew the possibility of Derek understanding him was too good to be true. The huffing must be him smelling Stiles’ scent or some other creepy werewolf thing. Feeling a series of buzzes in his pocket, Stiles pulled out his phone again and answered it. “Hello there, Scotty-Boy.”

His best friend didn’t bother with a greeting, “I got your texts. Peter is looking into the symbols on his chest now but says it could take a while. How is he?”

“As good as any feral werewolf with open wounds could be. How long is a while?” A pause and some harsh sounds of overlapping whisper-yelling told Stiles all he needed to know. 

“Twenty-four hours. Maybe longer,” Scott answered before more whisper-yelling and the sound of fumbling filled the call.

“Hey Stiles,” it was a feminine voice this time.

“Hey, Cora. What’s up?”

“I have a favor to ask you.”

Stiles already knew where this was going. Just his dumb luck. “Sure,” he sighed. 

“Can you please stay with Derek while Uncle Peter researches those symbols? He can’t be left in this headspace. You’re the only one that can do it.” With a shaky voice, sounding on the edge of tears, Cora added, “please, Stiles.”

“Yeah,” he said without thinking. You have to die of something, right?

She sighed deeply in relief. “Thanks. I owe you one.” Click.

And that was that. All of a sudden he found himself facing a night, or longer, alone with a feral alpha werewolf. A feral alpha werewolf that didn’t like him even when he had all of his marbles. He wasn’t sure if his other pack members were still behind that door or if they were going to camp out there as well. Maybe he should have asked.

The whole time Stiles was on the phone, Derek watched him with a cocked head, reminding him of a dog. Nope. He stopped that train of thought. Dogs are friendly, intelligent companions. And they usually wouldn’t kill you. 

“Alright, Derek. Looks like it’s just us tonight. Are you ever going to leave your corner?”

More of the lost puppy-dog face.

Stiles shook his head at himself half-expecting an answer, wondering if Derek could even talk through those massive canines. The sound of his stomach growling filled the silence between them. Hopefully, he went grocery shopping before he went insane. He started moving towards the direction of the kitchen to check the fridge.

Click. Clack. The sound of claws against the wooden floors.

Glancing over his shoulder, he realized Derek left his corner and was following him. A predator was stalking him. He shivered as he faced the werewolf again, feeling like he was the naked one in this situation. His voice sounded braver than he felt as he said, “I swear if you’re going to kill and eat me, you better make it quick and painless.”

His words didn’t stop Derek in the slightest. He moved closer, stumbling like he wasn’t used to walking on only his back legs until he was way past striking distance. He huffed and let out a small rumbling sound.

Sure that he was about to die, Stiles snapped his eyes closed. The killing blow never came. Instead, his neck felt like it was being smothered in pine straw. His eyes snapped back open. 

Derek was nuzzling his neck with his dark, furry sideburns. The low rumbling sound from his chest continued, much louder now. He smelled like feces and death. Stiles was sure he was rubbing fresh blood into his shirt. All in all, it was a very overwhelming experience for both of them.

“As much as I’m enjoying this, you smell gross, dude,” Stiles said, lightly pushing the werewolf’s shoulders to get some space.

Whining, Derek let himself get pushed away. He definitely had the puppy-dog eyes down pat, putting even Scott’s to shame.

Wrinkling his nose, Stiles said, “You need a bath.” Then it dawned on him. He had to be the one to do it. He weighed his options. Option one: both of their egos would bruise. Option two: he would have to deal with the smell for the rest of the night. Option one it was.

*

The bath was labeled as a disaster and Stiles vowed to never speak about it ever again. At least he was able to get rid of most of the grime and scent. Not getting injured was just a bonus. He didn’t even bother suggesting clothes to the alpha. Now that the task was finally over with, Stiles headed back to the kitchen, his quest for food not forgotten.

Derek followed him at a close distance, still unsure on his feet.

“You know, if you were going for the whole evil look, you’re really not pulling it off well,” Stiles babbled as he poked through the fridge. It wasn’t completely empty, at least. He hummed in thought. A sandwich for him. And, his eyes landed on a large cut of steak, something for his second shadow. 

He brought the steak out of the fridge and waved it to Derek, who was very much interested, judging by the intense eyes following the package. He unwrapped it and then paused. Should he cook it first? A low growl of a hungry werewolf echoed off of the tile. Okay, nope, he thought and tossed it.

Trying not to gag at the sloppy eating sounds, Stiles made his own sandwich. With cooked meat, thank you very much. Not even Derek’s lack of table manners would stop him from eating. The simple dinner was the best meal he has had in a while.

The second task of the evening now completed, he yawned and checked his phone. No new calls or texts and it was well after midnight. Great. He was exhausted. By his side, Derek yawned as well, jaw snapping. 

“Can I trust you not to eat me in my sleep?”

No response. Typical.

Stiles sighed and went to Derek’s bedroom, having already made up his mind. He wasn’t surprised that he was followed. What did surprise him was when Derek followed him into the bed. He wanted to comment on it, he really did, but the bed was soft and Derek was warm. 

*

In the morning, Stiles found out that licking was not the best wake up call. Not opening his eyes, he pushed Derek’s fuzzy face away from his own. It was way too early to deal with that. No matter what time it was. Plus the blanket felt nice and heavy. Wait, heavy? 

Stiles opened his eyes slowly, trying not to get blinded by the morning light. Why didn’t Derek buy curtains? Speaking of the devil, red eyes shone back at him, far too close for comfort. 

“Hey, big guy. You’re kinda crushing me,” Stiles said, lying through his teeth. There was barely any pressure on his chest and Derek, especially in his alpha shift, was way heavier than this.

Derek whined and nuzzled into a rather sensitive part of Stiles’ throat, breath teasing his skin.

“Not there,” he groaned, face becoming hot and struggling slightly against the hard body against him. He hoped Derek never remembered this. Thankfully, the werewolf moved to the other side of his neck to continue his antics. The damned territorial creature was probably scent marking him.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Stiles rubbed Derek’s furry back, hoping it was at least comforting to him. Normal Derek wasn’t all this touchy-feely. Which Stiles had always found strange, considering that all of the other werewolf pack members were, including the elusive Peter and Cora.

From this angle, he could see that the chest wound still looked fresh, but less blood was dripping from it. Probably because it was against him all night. Any other morning and he would have complained. Right now he was happy to have lived through the night. 

Stiles cursed as his phone started vibrating from somewhere in the tangled sheets. He found it and answered it before the last ring.

“I swear to god, do not fuck my brother while he’s like this.”

Stiles squeaked back at his phone in shock.

“We can smell both of your arousals all the way past the front door,” Cora screamed-whispered.

“You guys stayed there overnight?” 

“Yeah, in partnered shifts. Everyone but Uncle Peter, who is still researching. We couldn’t leave our favorite human on his own.”

Stiles snorted before saying, “How touching.”

“Just don’t fuck him. Bye,” she said quickly and then hung up.

It was after he tossed the phone back on the bed that he realized that the she-wolf said _both_ of their arousals. 

*

“Your uncle is currently being useless so we are going to do things out the Stilinski way. That starts with being a basic human and doing basic human things,” Stiles said from his place next to Derek on the leather couch in the living room, barely big enough for the both of them. He had to move a pile of laundry to the nearby armchair, thinking that Derek should really clean more.

With this declaration, he turned on the decently large flat-screen TV and searched for the weekend Marvel marathon that he read about on some fandom blog. The newest one was hitting the box office next Friday and Stiles would be damned if he didn’t re-watch all of the prequels before he saw it.

Derek continued staring at him like he normally did. It was becoming annoying at best. Creepy at worst. And also utterly confusing, based on Cora’s comment from an hour ago.

“Dude you’re supposed to watch the movie,” he said, pointing to the TV. After Stiles waved at it for a while, the werewolf seemed to understand as he snuggled up to him more and focused on the moving screen.

Stiles, who was usually the one to hyper-focus on movies and TV shows, found himself distracted throughout their cuddling and binge-watching session. Their history, assuming you could call it that, was not straightforward. At the start, the two were bitter acquaintances. Along the way, it changed into neutral allies and then blossomed into what they were today, hesitant packmates. 

During one commercial break, Derek must have felt Stiles’ eyes on him because he shifted his focus back towards the human. His face looked as wolfy and as blank as ever. 

“I miss your face. Your stupid, handsome, human face. It can at least respond to me using words, even if they aren’t your strong suit.” 

Stiles thought his next words carefully. The pack was close by and, if they could smell him, they could hear him. He couldn’t confess to anything too embarrassing. “I— We need you, Derek. I know you’re in there. We are going to get you out, okay? Just hold on for me.” 

He couldn’t lose him, not like this. Blinking rapidly, he tried to stop the tears from falling. They fell anyway. He didn’t stop Derek from licking them off of his face.

*

Stiles must have eventually fallen asleep in Derek’s warm, slightly fluffy embrace because he was rudely woken up to the tell-tale sound of his phone buzzing on the nearby coffee table. Derek, who was still asleep, grumbled when the body he was using as his own personal bed moved.

Seeing Peter’s name flash on the screen, he wasted no time in answering the call and put the device directly against his ear. “How do we fix Derek?”

Peter let out a deep, amused chuckle. “What? No greeting for your savior?”

“Just get on with it,” he bit back, watching Derek slowly wake up from the sounds of the conversation. 

“That symbol is an ancient magical rune, meant to bring, and I quote, ‘what’s hidden in the soul to life.’ It’s quite fascinating, really.” 

“That’s great and all,” Stiles interrupted before Peter could go down one of his well-known lectures, “but how do we bring him back to normal?”

“You ruin it. In this case, slash his chest with a knife. There should be plenty in the kitchen. And, if my theory is correct, his wolfsbane-infected wounds should then heal themselves.”

“What?! No. Nope. No way,” he started to babble from the shock.

If rolling eyes made a noise, Stiles was sure he would have heard through the phone from the sassy werewolf as he said, “Just do it. Everyone is outside. You don’t want to keep us waiting, do you?” Peter then hung up.

Stiles glared at his phone like it was the source of all of his problems. This was insane. What better way to piss off a feral alpha than attacking it with a weapon? This was it. This was the part where Stiles was going to lose his mind. He’s crazy for even considering it, let alone actually following through with Peter’s insane plan. Maybe this was all of Peter’s long-con, homicidal plan to be the alpha of his own pack. Yep, that was it.

“Alright, big guy. You need to get off of me if I’m going to slash your chest open,” he said as he pushed on his alpha’s shoulders from under them.

Derek grumbled at the idea of having to move from his comfortable spot. Eventually, with Stiles’ encouraging words and light touches, he slowly got up off of the human and then the couch. When Stiles left the living room and into the kitchen, he unceremoniously followed. 

It didn’t take long for Stiles to find the collection of kitchen knives that were tucked away in the back of the silverware drawer. He picked out the sharpest looking one, hoping that it would be less painful. With the blade in his dominant hand, he turned to his target. If Derek recognized the weapon in his hand, he sure didn’t think of it as a threat.

Trying to steady his labored, shaky breathing, Stiles returned to the living room with Derek close to follow. The bigger, open space of the room as well as the nearby front door, made it safer. If the feral werewolf lashed out at him, the pack had at least a chance to barge into the loft and stop him. 

Without second-guessing himself, Stiles stepped closer and attacked. The knife cut through the skin like paper, covering his hand in fresh blood. The alpha roared in pain. He watched Derek’s face as he shifted. Glowing red eyes melted into pale green ones. Fangs and hair disappeared into nothingness. More importantly, Derek was Derek again. 

“S-Stiles,” Derek whispered, voice hoarse from lack of use. His eyes focused more as he corrected his slouched posture, coming fully back into his own body. His bushy eyebrows knitted and he looked down. Cursing, he grabbed a pair of jeans from the conveniently nearby pile of laundry on his armchair. 

Fighting down a blush, Stiles politely looked away and placed the knife on a table as he made himself more presentable. Well, there went his hopes that Derek wouldn’t find out about the part where he was naked the whole time.

As if on cue, the rest of the pack flung themselves through the front door. Cora, the first one through, pushed past Stiles and jumped on Derek, hugging him fiercely. The rest of the pack slowly but surely had their turn to greet their alpha.

Once everyone settled, Peter dramatically cleared his throat. “What do you remember?”

Derek was silent in thought for a second before answering his uncle, “Hunters nabbed me on my run through the preserve. They said something about tearing the pack apart from the inside out before cutting this thing in my chest,” he pointed to the wound that was now healing before their eyes. “That’s my last memory.”

“‘What’s hidden in the soul’ must be the more wild side for werewolves,” Stiles said.

Erica cut in to add, “They must have thought you would kill all of us in your feral state, even if you are our alpha.” By her side, Boyd and Isaac nodded, agreeing with the she-wolf.

“Still, we should go to where you were tortured, to see if we can catch an old scent from the hunters,” Cora chirped. It was the best idea they had, so they went with it.

After hasty goodbyes from most of his pack, including a grunt from Derek, Stiles found himself alone in the loft with the oldest Hale. “What do you think, Peter?”

“I think that if my nephew was anymore less sane than he is then their plan would work.” Stiles shuddered at the thought as Peter continued, “But what I find more interesting was that, even while feral, he refused to harm you.” 

“Dumb luck.”

Peter scoffed at the idea. “It wasn’t dumb luck. Think about the meaning behind the rune, clever boy.”

“What’s hidden in the soul,” Stiles muttered to himself in thought. It clicked. Love. People love with their souls. Some thought that you love with your heart. But that wasn’t true. Hearts were fickle things. “But what now? It’s not like he remembers those feelings while he was feral.”

“He lied. I was actually impressed. I didn’t know he could do that, ” Peter said as he turned to leave. “That’s enough of me playing matchmaker. Bye, Stiles.” Then he was gone.

What the hell?

*

Stiles sat in the dark on Derek’s couch for what felt like hours as he waited for him to come back. He spent most of the time staring out the windows, up at the starry sky and wondering what the hell he was going to say to the other man.

The lights flipped on as the front door slammed, frightening Stiles out of his thoughts and the couch. He turned to see Derek standing there staring at him, not looking that different from his confused feral self from earlier. 

Gathering every ounce of courage he had, Stiles marched up to the werewolf. The words started coming out on their own. “I love you. I love every inch of you. Every grumpy face and every fault you have. You’re the moon to my stars or whatever that stupid saying is. And don’t call me crazy! We both know what that rune is for and Peter told me that you lied about your memory loss.”

He looked angry at the mention of Peter and Stiles was about to flee the scene, until Derek opened his mouth. “I love you so fucking much. So much that it hurts me sometimes. And, damn it, Stiles, I was supposed to confess my love first!”

Frustrated, Stiles threw his hands up. “Then you should have told me sooner!”

“Sorry,” Derek murmured and placed his warm firm hands on Stiles’ hips. “Let me make it up to you. Maybe I could take you to see that new superhero flick you’ve been raving about for the past month.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Derek responded with a cheeky grin.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on my Teen Wolf shipping [Tumblr](https://stilesshipper.tumblr.com/)


End file.
